Chapter 6
Chapter Six
When I reach for the door, I notice there’s a smudge on the gold lettering of Hardy.
I rub my elbow over it using the soft material of my coat to make it shine again.
“There. Much better.” Yeah, yeah, I talk to myself sometimes.
Whatever. I’m damn proud of this bar and that my name’s the one on that smudgy door.
When I walk inside, the happy hour crowd is in full swing, every table occupied. I stop by the far end of the bar when I see Clive. “How’s it going?”
His smile grows. I’ve seen that one before. He’s either just gotten laid or about to hone in on his prey. “Picking up.” Despite the old man name, he’s one of my biggest earners. The ladies love him. I’m six two. He’s twenty-five and built like a beast at six five.
“Business or you?”
“Ha! You know me well. Little honey-colored sweet bee over by the dartboard.”
I look behind me. A pretty woman with a sincere laugh is pulling a dart out of the wall. He always did like the doe-eyed blondes. “Twenty-one?”
“Don’t worry. I carded. Twenty-three last week.”
Nodding my approval, I reply, “Good.” Pushing off the bar, I head to the back. “Eddie will be here soon, but you know where to find me if you need anything.”
“You working behind the bar tonight, boss?”
“Trying to catch up on the books for last week.”
“We’ve got the front covered.”
“I have no doubt.” I greet a few ladies on the way back.
The hall is quiet, my office quieter when I unlock the door.
The dry erase board is the first thing I see when I enter—smeared ink where Const—Virginia’s hair rubbed against it when I rubbed against her.
Damn, she was beautiful with her lips parted, her breath becoming mine, and her pussy vibrating around my fingers.
That same memory inspired me to get off another time in the shower this morning.
I should be mad at her, offended she treated our time together less than respectful like I had.
But I didn’t just have a good time with her; I had a good time getting to know her.
It would have been nice to have more time with her.
Asshole put an end to that. He had some nerve showing up to collect her like he owns her.
And what the fuck? Was she drunk enough to fall right into his hands after I warmed her up?
I sit down at my desk and switch on the lamp.
I need to bury myself in some numbers instead of burying my thoughts into her deep heat.
Rubbing my eyes, I glance at my watch. Two hours.
The nightly transition has happened and the night crowd is growing.
My mind drifts. I hate unsettled feelings and that’s what I have from last night.
And this morning. She was a virgin and yet, she went home with him and what?
Banged him. I don’t regret not having sex with her.
It goes back to respect—I respect her so it’s hard to hate her.
We all make mistakes. So maybe if she comes around again I’ll give her another chance.
I doubt she will, but it helps to ease the little bit of guilt I’ve carried over from bailing from that cab this morning.
Now that I’m caught up with last week’s inventory and balanced the books, I stand, looking in the mirror behind the desk and straighten my tie.
I don’t have a uniform here, but the guys tend to dress nicer.
Keeps the clientele happy and helps project a more upscale ambiance.
Yeah, yeah, we hook up sometimes, but we’re single, so it’s all-good.
I turn out the lamp and leave the office. Making my way through the tables and full bar reminds me again of how fortunate I am. I worked for this, gave up my past life in hopes of something better. The hours are long, but so were the hours at my last job. At least this one comes with perks.
“Hi, Hardy.”
Seeing one of my favorite margarita drinkers, I stop and swing around the back of her chair to kiss her on the cheek. “Hi Margot. Good to see you.”
“Better seeing you. Now give me a spin and let me get the full view.”
I’m tempted. She’s good in bed. She’s also married.
Now. I’ll clarify that she wasn’t when we hooked up last year.
Her being married means she’s off-limits now.
I may live by two rules, but I make the guys adhere to that one.
The last thing I need or the bar needs is an angry husband out for revenge.
Anyway, ever since I ran into my ex-boss’s ex-wife, I keep things in my life less muddied.
I kiss Margot on the cheek and make sure she’s good with her current drink before checking in with Eddie and Clive.
Just five feet from the bar, I stop. I know that midnight hair, lean legs, and another damn suit that does nothing to flatter her figure. Oh wait, maybe I do approve of the suits. Clive gives me a look along with a little head nod toward Virginia.
I feel the tension in my jaw as I walk around the bar.
When I see what she’s drinking, it lifts just a little.
She looks up and gives me an uneasy smile that looks out of place on her.
I’m not all bad. I head down to break the pressure before it builds.
Her glass has just gone empty and she pushes it forward.
Standing in front of her, I ask, “Would you like another Paloma?”
“Are you making it?”
“Making and Shaking.”
Even I know how lame that line is, but she laughs. “Then I’ll take two.”
“Let’s start slow.”
“I was thinking over.”
Working on her drink, my gaze lifts to her. “I recognize you.”
Her eyes go wide. “Well, I hope so after what we did.”
I chuckle. “I mean this is the woman who caught my attention last night. Bold, empowered, ordering Gimlets as if she actually likes them.”
“I do like them,” she protests, sitting up straighter.
“Because I make a damn good Gimlet.”
“Yes, you do, but what do you mean you recognize me.”
I set the glass and a saltshaker in front of her and lean in closer so only she hears.
“You’re tough, quick wit, and if I’m being honest, which for some reason I am with you, you’re the most beautiful woman in here.
” I take a step back, wanting to leave room for my emotional outpour.
I’d wipe it up if I could and reach for a rag out of habit.
It’s too late. She’s enchanted. I’ve seen that look before.
Now I’ve gone and done it. I bet it was the honesty.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“This woman sitting at my bar right now and that shy girl from last night, they’re two different people.”
“Which do you prefer?”
“I think you know.” I take a step back, not wanting to argue. This is leading into dragging those unresolved feelings up to the surface and I’m not ready to confront those demons.
“I’m sorry, Hardy. I meant what I said this morning and when I say it now.
” She looks to her barstool neighbors on either side of her and then turns back to me.
“What we did and how you treated me—it was beyond what I could have asked of anyone. I didn’t deserve you in the first place, but I definitely didn’t mean to dismiss you.
I’m truly sorry. I hope you can forgive me. ”
I sigh, already knowing I’ll accept. “I’m a sucker for an apology.”
“Katie O’Dowd said you might be a suck—”
Pressing my fingers to her mouth before she says anything more, I cut her off and tease, “You need to stop listening to Katie O’Dowd. She talks too much.”
“She had a lot of good things to say about you.”
“If she has such fond memories, what made her send you in while she stayed home?”
“Pregnant.”
Taken aback. I did not see that coming. “I’m not gonna lie. My heart stopped there for a second.”
She bursts out laughing. “Don’t worry, you’re safe. She’s only three months along and she’s pretty sure it’s her husbands.”
I start laughing. “Pretty sure?”
“I was joking. “She’s happily pregnant by her husband.”
Not worried in the least, but it’s fun to pretend. I wipe the sweat from my forehead and puff out my cheeks in an exaggerated exhale. “We should drink to that.”
“Can you join me?”
“Maybe.”
“What will turn that maybe into a yes?”
“Answers.”
“I’ll give you any answers you want.”
I pour a whiskey—neat—and say, “Come on. There’s a table over there.
We can talk.” When I come out from behind the bar, I follow her to the table.
Even in that damn suit her jacket is just short enough to show off that great ass.
She takes a seat and I sit across from her.
“To Katie O’Dowd.” I tap my glass to the wood top once, then take a long drink of my whiskey while taking a good look at her.
When I set it down, I see how bundled and uptight she seems. She offered, so I’m going to ask the questions.
“What’s your last name, Virginia?” The name is starting to fit the woman in front of me, feeling more natural to say.
“Ryan. My last name is Ryan.”
Virginia Ryan. I like her name, almost as much as I like her. Sure I’m still a little mad at her, but that’s just my stubborn side keeping me from a good time. “It’s funny we have two first names as our last names.”
That keeps that smile, though unsure, hanging on her face long enough for me to memorize her features and see the beauty in her uncertainty. “That is funny. And if we ever got married, I wouldn’t have to change my initials.”
Normally the reins would be pulled way back at the mere mention of marriage, but when she says it, I find her too cute. “Yep, because stuff like that is important,” I tease. As the amusement fades, I get to what I can tell she’s anticipating, maybe dreading. “Why did you leave with that asshole?”
She sighs. Shame covers her when she looks down as if that is the last question she wanted to answer. When her gaze lifts, she takes a deep breath and then exhales. “I don’t want to lie to you.”
“Then don’t.”